Bittersweet Memories
by Noellestar8
Summary: Jack returns to a familiar place with a purpose in mind. But will the memories prove too much?


Emma's Grave

Cold. It was all around him. In the soft, snow laden ground he stepped on, in the thick, tall trees that shaded him, in the clouds high above, even in the air that filled his lungs. He stepped gently, his feet without protection but feeling no effect from the frost. After all, he was the one who controlled it.

In his right hand he held his staff, made of strong, sturdy wood. The curve at the top made it resemble a Shepard's crook, and a light layer of frost dusted its entire length of at least five and a half, maybe six feet. He walked listlessly and without enthusiasm. He had abandoned his usual happy, confident gait, as he knew that he was all alone and no one was watching him.

He wandered through the tall, dark trees, grateful for their shade and cold, sturdy comfort. Occasionally, he would brush up against one, and intricate patterns of frost would spiral out from where he touched the bark. They were like tiny spider webs or thin veins, and formed delicate, intricate patterns of temporary beauty.

The thick of trees and dark wood stopped suddenly, revealing a clearing. Soft snow drifts had formed all around, perfect for children to play in during a snow day. But there were no children here; there hadn't been for a while. In the middle of the clearing was a pond, frozen over with a sheet of white ice. Jack felt a wrench in his gut; this simple pond, unassuming and insignificant at best, held so many memories for him, and the good competed with the bad. This place was where he had… well, died. He squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered: the ice cracking beneath him, his sister's face turning from complete happiness to shock, dismay and fear in the split second he had to look at her before his support was gone and he fell into the icy waters. He had fought, or tried to, but the clothes and cold and terror weighed him down and he sank, until the cold wasn't just around him but in him as well.

But this was also where he had first appeared as Jack Frost, where he'd risen up from the lake's cold depths, broke through the icy surface and greeted the moon for the first time. And this was also where he had first acted as a Guardian, even though he had been human at the time. He smiled at the memory of his little sister, of her dark, dark brown hair and eyes, similar to his own when he had been alive, and her bright laugh and playful ways. And he was once again incredibly grateful that even though he had died on that day, he had at least been able to save her.

It was different being here now than when he had first risen out of the lake. After all, now he had his memories of what happened to cause him to end up in the lake in the first place.

Without realizing it, his feet had carried him to the other side of the pond, and after some walking he soon found himself surrounded not by thick, shaded trees but by the crumpled remains of log cabins and stone houses. The state of his old village, if one could even still call it a village, was painful. The few walls of stone that had miraculously managed to stay standing after years of harsh weather jutted out jagged and grey from the ground, a harsh contrast to the soft, glowing white of the snow. The scattered remains of buildings were life a skeleton slowly crumbling to dust, and it was evident that no one had lived in the village for a long, long time. Part of Jack was happy at that; that this place wasn't an overdeveloped land of concrete that tried its best to starve off the cold, but it also saddened him to see his old village in such disrepair.

He wandered around, weaving through the crumbling buildings, his memories tentative. He glanced to his right at one of the few buildings that actually had something standing remaining, remembering it to be the home of the baker. And there, a bit further and to his left was the home of a boy his sister was friends with. Old, crumbled houses that held the ghosts of so many memories stretched out before him, but he walked past them all, despite how tempted he was to stop at some of them. They weren't the reason he had decided to come here.

Exiting the village and leaving behind the memories tugging at his mind, Jack continued to walk. After a mere five minutes, he found it. The whole reason he had come here in the first place. Her grave.

After nearly 300 years, the headstone was weathered and worn, but he could still make out the letters of her name. He traced their faint impressions over and over again. Little patterns of lacy ice branched out from his fingers, coating the delicate letters of her name until it was hard to make them out.

His throat closed up, his stomach tightened. This was his sister. His _sister._ The one who he lived and died for, the one he loved most. And here, before him, was her grave. He never got to see her grow up, get married, have children. He never got to know her as she aged and progressed. His life as her brother, her protector was stolen by a crack in the ice, and he would never get it back.

'But at least I saved her.' The thought fluttered around his mind, and he took what little comfort he could from it. But it didn't lessen the hurt of the loss he felt at no longer being able to be there for her.

As all this swirled around in his head, he clenched his hands around the headstone, and a sheet of ice quickly spread out and coated it. Tears, cold and icy, dripped down his face, as he mourned for a life remembered, a life lived; a life that had changed and passed by without his presence.

How long he stood there like that, gripping the headstone with tears dripping down his face, Jack didn't know. But after a long while the tears subsided and Jack was surprised to find a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was sad and a little bit melancholy, but also grateful and genuine. This was his sister. The one he loved; the one he died protecting. As much as this place was painful for him, it was also pleasant, and reaffirmed his belief in himself as a Guardian.

Jack straightened up, releasing the headstone, now coated in layers of ice from his cold grip. The gentle smile still played at his lips, and although he knew it was impossible, he felt like somewhere his sister was smiling too. Silently, the winds lifted him and gently carried him up, and slowly the scene of the tiny headstone and a lake in the middle of a clearing ringed by trees receded. He turned around to catch one last glimpse of the grave of the person who meant everything to him, his smile still present, and the winds carried him into the dark, cold night sky, pinpricked with hundreds and hundreds of stars.

2


End file.
